


Terminal Leave

by nobarre



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Canon Compliant, Lots of tears, M/M, Self-Indulgent, Unresolved Ending, implied sexual activities, introspective, post-Grand Prix Finals
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-23
Updated: 2016-12-23
Packaged: 2018-09-11 10:39:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,429
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8976346
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nobarre/pseuds/nobarre
Summary: Yuuri's thoughts, one day after.-Things were not as clear as he thought they would be.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! I never would have thought I'd get sucked into writing fiction again. I've been doing business and research writing for so long that I think I've lost my artistic touch. This was tough to write, and something I think is not up to par with my usual work, but I suppose this is partly self-indulgent meta that I needed to write. Enjoy!

Yuuri woke up to a bare hotel room and sunlight filtering through the window. He saw Makkachin, taking a nap at the corner of the room, and his clothes in disarray atop his luggage. The television was playing news in a language he could not understand (but could only assume was Spanish), and he heard quiet breaths beside him.

Things were not as clear as he thought they would be.

Yuuri hardly remembered what had transpired the day before. Competition is almost like drinking: you drown, you jump, you get drunk, and you forget. He vaguely remembered how the ice felt below him, and how the weight of the medal hung from his neck, and how eyes – spectators – had watched his every move. His only regret was disappointing them.

It shouldn’t bother Yuuri as much as it did a year ago. With Viktor’s dedication, he redeemed his piss-poor performance (or what was, in his opinion, a poor performance) of the previous year with a clean skate from this year’s: his body moved to the music, just like Viktor wanted it to, and he didn’t flub a single jump. Deep inside, though, he could not but feel helpless. He had been chasing gold, and just as he could not keep up with Viktor (not now, maybe not _ever_ ), he thought that he may not get the gold medal, either.

Yuuri Katsuki was a dime-a-dozen figure skater certified by the Japan Skating Federation. He was 24 years old, had weight gain problems, loved a good katsudon, managed to catch the attention of Viktor Nikiforov, legendary figure skater[1], and still did not manage to win gold.

He was stumped. In Viktor’s words, he had been in warm-up mode. He wasn’t sure if he should rely on the words of someone who had all intentions of flattering him, or maybe comforting him, because the thought that _he screwed up, damn_ , still won over in his head. The silver mocked him. Embarrassment lingered at the pit of his stomach, his words to Japan replaying over and over – _I’ll prove it to myself with a Grand Prix Final gold medal_ – and knowing that he had not fulfilled that promise.

Yuuri felt a warm hand against his back. He turned to see Viktor, his coach, his friend, his _everything_ , rubbing sleepiness from his eyes.

“You’re overthinking again, aren’t you?” Viktor whispered, as he traced circles on Yuuri’s shoulder. 

“I’m alright,” Yuuri said. “I’m tired, that’s all.”

Viktor sighed. “I never know what’s going on in your head, Yuuri,” he said, “It’s always a guessing game with you.”

 

Yuuri had not been transparent with his emotions and desires, except perhaps through skating, and except when Yuuri actively chose to articulate them. Even Viktor – the first person Yuuri had wanted to hold on to[2] – was not a welcome visitor to that space in his mind where he almost lovingly entertained his fears and his doubts. The fact that Yuuri had a glass heart was obvious to most people who knew him. Even casual fans had seen that Yuuri was more fragile than most skaters – or most people, really – were[3]. It frustrated Yuuri to no end: he had always been treated like porcelain, handled with gloves, cushioned with the kind of caution warranted by children.

He felt hot breath against his ear. “Maybe someday,” Viktor said, “When you understand how I feel, maybe you’ll let me know how _you_ feel.”

Viktor was always the exception. He had this presence about him that made Yuuri want to keep him forever. Yuuri was neither possessive nor worldly, but he wanted to brand Viktor as _his_ and _his alone_. He was always drunk on those thoughts as he skated to _Eros_. Viktor had set himself apart, yet again, when he shattered Yuuri’s heart some months back. No one had attempted to break him before, but Viktor did, through painful words that Yuuri’s mind _knew_ Viktor never meant, but his heart, ever the traitor, did, anyway.

Viktor gingerly guided Yuuri’s hand to rest against his chest. “This,” Viktor whispered, “Speaks for me.”

 

No tale is more compelling than one that never ends.

To the world, Yuuri had retired. He had made no announcement to the contrary yet, and his exhibition surely made it clear that the Grand Prix Final was closure. Viktor’s announcement was met with much excitement, of course. Yuuri chose not to state that he will remain (did he want to?), knowing full well that Viktor, The Legend, will drown out anything peripheral.

Yuuri is a dime-a-dozen skater who did not know, even up until this moment, what he did to deserve the man beside him. Yuuri buried his face into Viktor’s chest, then he turned, listening to Viktor’s heartbeat. He traced lines and strokes on Viktor’s back: 愛[4], then 希望[5], then 愛してる[6]. Viktor could never know.

 Viktor, ever sensitive, chuckled. “That tickles,” he said.

 “So?” Yuuri said, as he moved his hand from the small of Viktor’s back to Viktor’s face.

 “So…” Viktor replied, as he trailed his hands from Yuuri’s chest down to Yuuri’s hip. Yuuri felt a surge of heat pooling below his belly, and a chill up his spine.

 “I don’t know if I should continue,” Yuuri admitted. “I’ll never become you.”

 Viktor shook his head. “Of course you can’t,” he said, and boy, if _that_ thought wasn’t depressing. _Thanks, Viktor_. Viktor kissed Yuuri’s forehead, then his temple, then his neck. He peppered kisses on Yuuri’s body, like worship, and Yuuri – he can’t – he can’t resist this.

 “I don’t want you to be,” Viktor said. “You are Yuuri. All I want you to be is Yuuri.”

Yuuri felt warmth in his cheeks and hope in his bloodstream. Yuuri felt Viktor’s lips pressed against his, and Yuuri gave entrance. He loved kissing Viktor. It was intoxicating, it was heady, it kept Yuuri warm amidst the hotel room’s air-conditioning. Yuuri gripped Viktor’s shoulder with more resolved as he fought to lead this dance, as he (usually) does. Viktor relented. Yuuri rolled on top of Viktor, legs straddled against Viktor’s sides, and he peppered Viktor’s chest with kisses, taking breaks only to suck on Viktor’s nipple, and then some, to kiss Viktor breathless.

“Yuuri,” Viktor choked, attempting to stifle his moan. “You don’t get to do this.”

Yuuri paused, looking at Viktor’s eyes. “Huh?”

Viktor pushed himself up. “You can’t distract me. Not this time.”

The language barrier was a struggle that they both had battled. English was a beautiful language, but not a very nuanced one. There were many things Yuuri wished he could tell Viktor, many fears that he wanted to relay. Yuuri didn’t choose to keep things, he _wanted_ to tell Viktor _everything_ , but there were no words, there was no perfect time - 

“I’m not avoiding the issue,” Yuuri said. “It’s – I – This is the only way I know how to tell you.”

Viktor’s shoulders dropped. He reached for Yuuri’s hand, intertwining it with his, then pulled it close to his face. The gold of the ring reflected the sunlight creeping in. “Yuuri,” Viktor said, “This isn’t just a promise to be your coach. This is a promise to be _yours_.”

Yuuri felt tears welling, threatening to spill. “I don’t –” Yuuri choked, “– They say I’m not good enough for you. I think I’m not good enough for you.”

Viktor shook his head again. “Yuuri,” he said, “I think you’re more than enough for me. More than I’ll ever be.”

Viktor took Yuuri’s hand to his heart, again. “My heart is always like this, when I’m with you,” he said. Yuuri felt the slow, steady beat of Viktor’s pulse. “I feel at peace when I never did.”

Yuuri finally allowed a sob to break free. “I want to skate with you _forever_ , Viktor,” he said. “But I can’t make it – there is so much new talent – there is – there’s _you_ –”

Viktor took Yuuri to his chest, and Yuuri felt trembling. “I’m scared,” Viktor stuttered. “Skating was the only thing for me, and then now there is you, and you and skating _both_ –”

Yuuri felt wetness against his shoulder. Yuuri felt disgust at his heartlessness at that moment: how had he been so _selfish_ , how had he hurt Viktor this much already?

Yuuri took Viktor’s cheeks to his hands. “Viktor,” Yuuri said, “We are – I want to be yours.”

Viktor smiled through his tears. “I’m glad.”

Yuuri kissed Viktor again. He _loved_ this. He savored every single pleasure Viktor had willingly given him. He wanted this forever. He wanted this never to end.

**Author's Note:**

> 1 For some reason unknown to him, although the embarrassing details had been relayed to him by Phichit, who acquired that information from Chris.  [^](http://archiveofourown.org/works/8976346#return1)  
> 2 Viktor was, perhaps, the only person. [^](http://archiveofourown.org/works/8976346#return2)  
> 3 Which wasn't to say that figure skaters are not strong people. They are strong because they have been broken. [^](http://archiveofourown.org/works/8976346#return3)  
> 4 Love - because Viktor was the reason it had become so clear to him. [^](http://archiveofourown.org/works/8976346#return4)  
> 5 Hope - because Viktor was his hope. [^](http://archiveofourown.org/works/8976346#return5)  
> 6 I love you - because Yuuri did, and he supposed that he always will, even after this. [^](http://archiveofourown.org/works/8976346#return6)


End file.
